


With Words I Thought I'd Never Speak

by romanticizingchemicals



Series: Frerard One-Shots • romanticizingchemicals [10]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bilingual, Fighting, M/M, MCR, My Chem, basically the one where frank speaks Italian until he gets his way, bilingual character, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticizingchemicals/pseuds/romanticizingchemicals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>•based off of a request from my small potato child geeisajacketslut - found here: http://romaticphantasies.tumblr.com/post/124375647837/the-troubles-of-dating-a-polyglot•</p><p>Title Inspiration: Famous Last Words, by My Chemical Romance (The Black Parade)</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Words I Thought I'd Never Speak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geeisajacketslut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geeisajacketslut/gifts).



"How can you just sit there all day long and not get the _least_ bit anxious?" I ask incredulously, eyes wide and arms thrown in the air. All he does nowadays is lay on the couch, staring blankly at the television screen. Maybe I would be more empathetic if what he watched was actually entertaining. But no, he sits here _all day_ and watches Korean soap operas, void of emotions, not comprehending plot lines or what's actually going on. 

 

Frank simply shrugs, blinking slowly as he does so. Of course; what else was I to expect?

 

It's not like we've actually exchanged an interesting conversation for the last week or so. In fact, the only words we share are usually a half-hearted "good morning" or "what do you want for dinner" sort of thing. He hasn't shown any actual interest in much lately, and it scares me more than anything. 

 

I feel a few tears well up in my eyes, so I quickly turn around, nearly crashing into the side table and knocking over the lamp. However, in an attempt to regain my balance, I stumble a few feet before barreling into the wall headfirst, screaming in agony as I actually crumple to the ground this time. Sobbing dryly, I tear wildly at my hair, hoping that the sudden dizziness falling over me may disappear if I create more pain. This doesn't help, so I resort to drastic measures.

 

"Jesus Christ Frank, _please_!" I cry desperately, cradling my head in my trembling arms and screwing my eyes shut before looking up at Frank. He throws me a nonchalant glance, but once he realizes that I'm actually in pain, he gasps and pretty much flies over to help me. I haven't seen him move this fast since the dog got out a few months ago, and the memory makes me giggle, drunk with pain. Frank kneels down beside me and props my head up against his thigh, getting closer to my face in order to get a good look at the mark. He holds up a finger, and waves it wildly. "Follow it with your eyes," he orders nervously, and so I try my best to.

 

Before getting up to go get me water, he kisses my temple quickly, and I close my eyes. The pain in my head is still pounding, causing me to moan in agony a few times as I await water.

 

I'm just basic human wreckage.

 

***

 

Frank runs his hand through my hair gently, careful not to graze the swollen lump quickly forming on my forehead. This sounds extremely desperate and needy, but I love this attention. After being deprived of it for weeks, even the smallest of romantic gestures sends me into some sort of intimate spiral.

 

"What do you want for dinner?"

 

The question is just like any other, yet I don't feel like answering it. Mentally, emotionally, and, most importantly, physically, I'm fucking exhausted. I can't make these life-changing decisions. "Don't know," I reply softly, looking up at Frank. He looks slightly irritated at my inability to answer such a question, but quickly masks it as he sees my brows knit together in sincere confusion. "Well, I'm not choosing, so either you choose or we're not eating," he replies, the threat seemingly empty.

 

However, he's told me this before, and we actually didn't eat for half a day. Of course his hunger makes him grumpy, but I'm not choosing what to eat. Surely he'll understand. "Okay," I reply cockily, not breaking eye contact with Frank. 

 

He grunts loudly and shoves my head gently, not enough to spike the pain, but enough to startle me and cause me to flinch. "Hey!" I cry nervously, grabbing onto Frank's shirt to maintain balance and to not fall off of the couch. Frank grabs onto me, but rolls his eyes. "You're so fucking indecisive!" he retorts, scratching his head irritably.

 

I scoff and cross my arms, and also roll my eyes. "Oh, fuck off," I grumble moodily, glancing away and biting the inside of my cheek.

 

" _JUST FUCKING CHOOSE!_ " the scream comes, replied to with an equally loud " _NO!_ ". At this, Frank opens his mouth to yell back at me, but then stops and considers something.

 

"If that's how you want to play it..." he whispers smugly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile, " _Non ho intenzione di preparare la cena._ "

 

Of fucking course. He's going to use his bilingual gifts to get his way. Just like he always does whenever we disagree or he wants something. No. No, I'm not letting this happen this time. I muster all of my memories from that stupid Spanish class I was forced to sit in for three years back in high school. " _Cállate_ ," I spit back, remembering that the teacher would always say that whenever the class of insolent, animal-like children would misbehave. 

 

Frank doesn't even understand. We're just going to be having a random conversation of back and forth language, one of us actually knowing what is being said.

 

" _Cosa vuoi per cena?_ " he asks, still smiling. I grin as well, because this whole thing is idiotic and we have no idea what the other person is saying. " _No hablo italiana_ , you twit," I reply humorously, and Frank giggles. At least he knows what that means. 

 

Frank also took some Spanish back in high school, or at least he's said he has. Just for one semester, though. " _¿Quieres la pizza?_ " he asks, and I shake my head. There, I picked up something about pizza, and it made enough sense. " _Pero me gusta la pizza. Te gusta pizza, ¿verdád?_ " Frank whines, making a pouty face. What the fuck does " _gusta_ " mean? 

 

"What?" I ask obnoxiously, squinting up at him. He smiles again, realizing that he has the advantage here. " _Mi piace la pizza. Possiamo prendere la pizza?_ " Frank replies, choking on gales of laughter as he studies my confused state. "What the actual fuck are you... Frank, what? What are you saying? Sure, I don't even know. _Sí_ , I don't know!" I cry, and Frank cheers. 

 

What? 

 

"Pizza it is," Frank chants victoriously, struggling and moving my head in order to retrieve his phone from his back pocket. While he types, I lay back into his lap, slightly shaken and astounded. He just used my own knowledge against me. "Being bilingual has its perks," he mumbles as he brings the phone to his ear, winking at me. "And that one semester of Spanish helps too. Maybe Señora Fernández wasn't all that bad." 

 

I scoff at him and roll over, confused and still trying to make heads and tails of the conversation. So we're having pizza, and Frank didn't want to decide, yet he did? What? He's so indecisive. My head hurts, and it's all his fault. I love him, but sometimes, like now, he can be a real dick.

 

Fuck him.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't hate me for this, but I had to use Google Translate for the Italian parts! Please don't kill me guys! I actually take Spanish, so I didn't use translators for the Spanish parts...
> 
> Bella, don't kill meh!
> 
> xoromanticizingchemicals


End file.
